


Meeting Again

by Aithilin



Series: Fresh Start [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Memory Loss, Regained Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 19:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Ignis has, and always will be, a friend to Noctis first and foremost.





	Meeting Again

It took them longer than he expected to return to Nyx’s bar. Despite the peace that was settling over Eos— the rebuilding, the new outposts, and the new movements of populations that were previously pinned down either by daemons or occupying forces— getting from one end of Galahd to the other could take a week. Sometimes longer if they weren’t travelling on the same privileges of their names and reputations and associations that had allowed them to get from Lucis to the island nation as quickly as they did. All Prompto seemed to know was that they had cut their negotiations short; that Ignis had presented the terms of alliance to the last of the Galahdian leaders and community elders he was scheduled to meet, and broke the itinerary by opting to return to Nyx’s hometown early. 

Prompto couldn’t tell if there was a rush or not; Ignis had been content enough to let him stop and get new pictures, to sample the local cuisine, to talk to people. They still stopped for the night, rested on the ferries between the islands, but Ignis was quiet— lost in thought, even as Prompto tried to get him to comment on the food, the rooms, the air, the islands, anything. But when they approached the bar— taking the little path off the main road, approaching from the side, where the private door was usually half hidden by deliveries and crates— Ignis’ pace quickened, his cane long since stopped seeking out the path for him as Prompto chattered at his shoulder, guided him through the one-sided conversation to complement the sounds of Nyx digging through crates and boxes. If there was a delivery today, the truck had already passed, the pallets and boxes separated into piles of full and empty and Nyx ducked in through the side door with a tablet before stepping out into the sunlight to greet them properly. 

“You’re back sooner than I expected,” Nyx said, brushing the dust from his hands and offering a grin. Prompto could see the way tension seemed to ease out of Ignis’ shoulders once they had stepped back to familiar ground— back onto familiar footing. “Everything okay? No one was giving you a hard time?”

“Is Noctis around?” Ignis didn’t wait until the pleasantries were out of the way, until they had even really greeted each other. It was the first reminder that Prompto really had that Iggy was on a mission, that he was looking for something in particular, that he had cut their mission short himself. 

“Yeah,” Prompto caught the edge of surprise from Nyx before it was schooled to a mild curiosity, the way Nyx had eased his voice while looking to Prompto for an answer to the question he didn’t want to ask just yet. He tapped the side of the building that the path followed, letting Ignis know which direction to move; “around back, cleaning up his weapons. Why? Is something wrong?”

“I’d like to speak with him, if I may?”

“Go for it,” Nyx knew better than to try to catch Ignis’ arm as he passed by. He knew better than to startle Ignis, to hinder him, to get in his way when there was something he was set on. But he also knew that very few people approached his lover for anything other than selfish reasons— for anything other than an offer of money for a risked life and a week away from home. He was used to other people approaching Noct with quick questions or posters that were meant to hang around the town, used to Libertus getting in with a new story or rumour that he could pass on. Nyx was used to seeing Noct head out with a farmer, or after a call from Dave, and come back that much more worse for wear. “Is this about a hunt?”

And he was getting tired of seeing Noct’s blood when the hunter stumbled back to him. 

“It’s not,” Ignis had barely stopped in his stride past Nyx; “It’s a personal matter.”

Galahd was not a quiet place despite the distance Nyx lived inland, away from the tourists and the refreshed traffic; there were birds and creatures in the woods that blanketed the land, voices drifting up from the main road as life was rebuilt in the sun and forests and on the beaches that Galahd had once been famous for. For a moment as he walked— slow steps, listening to Prompto and Nyx speaking behind him but ignoring the details of their words, the door being wedged open, the scrape of wood as Prompto was recruited to help sort out the delivery— he was glad that Nyx had chosen to move back inland, rather than stay close to the beaches like so many other refugees from Insomnia who had travelled east instead of west. He was glad that the noise this far from the larger cities was that much more muted by the slower way of life— the softer pace, the less hectic struggles to rebuild as something once was rather than trying to eke out something new.

If he had been in one of those more vibrant cities— with the traffic and the noise and the moving through the constant stream of voices and sales pitches and calls— he would have missed the soft, familiar sound of a whetstone on a short blade. On a straight, steel dagger. It wasn’t the long drag of a sword, or the careful maintenance of a greatsword; there was no soft clink and brush of a gun being cleaned, or a shift to the tone that indicated the kukri blades Nyx had always preferred. This was a dagger. Ignis knew the sound well. 

It was his technique— his grip, his pressure, his rhythm— that he had taught to Noctis long ago when they were still training. When Noctis would fumble with the tools and weapons, but grin as he started to improve, smiling as he tuned out lectures about why he needed to care for his equipment himself.

He could recognise that noise anywhere, and he could still see his friend sitting in the Citadel training rooms when they were both young. He could still see his prince’s look of concentration as he learnt the technique, and the pride as he took correction. He could still see the prince’s eye-roll as Ignis tried to fill the quiet between them with reports and news and important information he had picked up from his own lessons. He could still hear that small voice asking for a better story, or pestering him for answers to things he didn’t know yet, or asking if the king— if his father— would have some time away from his advisers and duties. He could still hear the voice of the boy, the young man, the prince, the king, echoing through everything he realised he had missed on the first trip through Nyx’s home.

“Ignis, hi,” the familiar rhythm stopped mid-stroke of the whetstone— a bad habit Ignis remembered from Noct’s youth, from his ability to be distracted with the right word— and Ignis had to stop himself from rushing to that voice. He had to stop himself from rushing to Noct’s side again. His breath caught in his throat as he had to remind himself that Noct may not remember him now, just as he had been cursed. “Nyx should be at the bar with inventory, if you’re looking for him.”

“I was looking for you, Noct. Your highness.”

At times like these he wished he could see again. He wished he could see Noct, see if the quiet was from surprise or… If he had it wrong. If he had been mistaken. He wished he could have seen Noctis— Noct— and seen if it was recognition or relief that had quieted him. He wished he had the ability to judge just what reaction his words had gained. If the nickname meant anything now. If the title meant anything to the man.

He wanted to see just how much his friend had changed. Even in those dreams Carbuncle had forced on him, he could still only ‘see’ Noct as he had been when they had started their journey. As the young man barely past his twentieth birthday. He could only ever see Noct as he once was, determined in Altissia to fulfil a duty no one had known would get him killed, hesitant in Leide to fulfil the role of symbol of contrived peace, carefree in Duscae as they had errand after errand asked of them. He could still see the way Noct had smiled when they had taken a couple of days’ rest before Luna’s address. His delight and determination to enjoy the city that had been such a struggle to get to. 

“Noctis—”

He hadn’t realised that Noct was moving until he felt the soft touch to his arm; “Iggy?” 

“You remember me,” Ignis relaxed at the touch to his arm, relieved that his friend was the man standing there. Was the man he had thought was dead for so long. Was the king and friend he had mourned. 

“I should be the one saying that, Ignis,” he heard the relief in Noct’s voice, raised a hand to examine him, to feel those features again. The features that had sharpened, the deepening around his eyes, the growth of a short beard. 

Ignis didn’t realise how much he had missed Noct until he heard that soft noise— the surprised sob choked back before it could hang between them— as he pulled the younger man into a tight hug. Until he could feel the way Noct gripped him just as tightly. Feel the way Noct’s shoulders trembled against him. “I’m so sorry, Noct.”

“It’s hardly your fault, Iggy,” Noct said after a long moment between them. After Ignis could feel the solid body of his friend straighten and strengthen, and take a small step back. “The Astrals—”

“Are idiots, is what I believe you intend to say,” Ignis interjected, not letting Noct step too far out of reach. He smiled as he tapped lightly on Noct’s leg with his cane; “You could have said something when I was here. When we had met in Duscae and Lestallum.”

He had never thought he’d hear that laugh again, never thought he’d feel that strong hand close around his own and pull him towards the workspace a few steps ahead. “And say what, exactly? It’s me? I’m not dead? It’s not even that you didn’t remember me, it’s that you didn’t recognise me.”

“Prompto or Gladio still won’t, I take it. Unless Gladio has texted anything to Prompto that I’m not aware of. And Nyx?”

Ignis let himself be guided to a seat— the rough benches cut from whatever fallen logs Nyx had dragged over to his property, circled around a firepit which still carried the lingering spices from the last meal cooked over it— and listened to Noct clear away his tools and weapons. He could still hear the care in every touch and movement, hear the way Noct carefully cleaned the blades he was working on before he sheathed them. He tilted his head towards the sound, held out his hand for the weapon curiously, felt the familiar weight and balance of the dagger. “Lucian daggers, Iggy. Like yours. Without my Armiger, I wanted something I was comfortable with.”

“Noct,” Ignis knew the way Noct spoke when he wanted to avoid a topic; “does Nyx recognise you?”

“No,” it was said with a sigh as Noct took the space next to him. The dagger taken and put away properly. “He’s been having dreams—”

“Carbuncle still holds love for you.”

“Yeah. He said he’d try something, but I don’t know what he could do. Or if anything could actually help or undo what the other Astrals did.”

“He was very persistent,” Ignis lifted a hand, tangled it in the longer hair at the back of Noct’s head, comforted by the touch he had never craved before he thought his friend was dead. “He seemed to keep prodding at the points in my memory he thought were the weakest, where the other spell or charm, or interference must have taken hold. I had been glad to not see your body before, when everything was over. I don’t think I could have handled seeing that the way Gladio and Prompto did. Carbuncle seemed to think it would jar my memory if he repeatedly showed me how you had died.”

“Sorry.”

“A prophecy is hardly your fault, Noct. You saved everyone. You did the duty the Crystal requested of you. What the other Astrals requested of you.”

“You brought me back. Never thought you’d be the one to tell the gods to fuck off, Iggy.”

“And forget that I did so. You’d think I’d remember doing something like that.” Ignis frowned, having had the time during the trip back to the small bar and the small town across Galahd to try to sort through which memories were real and which were a possibly fabrication or illusion, or whatever the Lucian gods had done. “It’s odd. There are two sets of memories now: the one I know now, where I used that spell. And the other, where you had died, which is more and more like a dream now. But everything before that moment is a normal memory, as is everything afterwards.”

“Whatever they did, I think they meant well enough.”

“Clearly there were good intentions,” Ignis agreed, finally releasing his hold on Noct. “You’re still the king, though.”

“I’m not,” There was an edge to Noct’s voice at that, a rushed note to it. Ignis knew that his friend must have thought this point over, repeatedly, if his response was so quick. “I can’t go back. I… I just can’t.”

Ignis had spent most of his life learning the rules of a kingdom he was one day going to help govern. He had spent a lifetime learning the rules of court and society, how laws were meant to be placed and enacted and enforced; how the King must consider every avenue of action before making a decision; how Noctis, the boy he used to read stories to and watch the stars with, would need his support and advice and knowledge. And friendship above all else. He had spent his life training for a position that was no longer needed, but he remembered the praise and lessons and encouragement he had from King Regis that his role was that of a friend to the prince before all else. That Noctis would listen to him if he approached as anything other than an employee of the realm. 

“Then don’t.”

“I’m running away from my duty, Iggy.”

“Noct, forgive me, but fuck your duty. You’ve already died for your kingdom once, I’m not going to ask you to sacrifice for it again. If Gladio chooses to make an issue of it when he is aware of what happened, then I’ll defend your choice as well.”

“Iggy…”

“I mean it, Noct. You’re entitled to a life now.”

“I missed you.”

“Good, because you still need someone sensible around you. And Ulric is certainly never to be considered a sensible man.”


End file.
